Three Godfathers
by Leda74
Summary: Hoping to avoid the attentions of the Celestial Intervention Agency, the Doctor and Jamie take the afternoon off in a parallel universe. Of course, things are seldom that simple, and the Doctor's about to run into an old acquaintance...


**Author's note: just in case it's not clear from context: this is set during Season 6B.**

* * *

"Are ye sure we've come tae the right place?"

There was no immediate response from inside the TARDIS, and the Scot wrinkled his nose and studied his surroundings while he waited for the Doctor's mind to complete whatever circuitous course it was currently negotiating.

It was a desert, dull even by desert standards. Gentle sand dunes rolled away into the distance beneath a sky the colour of bronze, and the heat struck like a hammer. Jamie, used to the cool mists of the Scottish Highlands, swiped a fine sheen of sweat from his brow and then loosened his kerchief a little. After a hesitant – and vaguely uncomfortable – moment, he tugged it off altogether and mopped his face a little more thoroughly.

"Of course I'm sure," said the Doctor briskly, stepping out onto the fine sand and closing the TARDIS door behind him. He glanced up at the blinding sun, tutted gently and then fumbled in his pocket for a moment, producing a pair of sunglasses, which he propped on the bridge of his nose with some aplomb. "We may be a little off course, mind you."

"An' how much is 'a little'?" asked Jamie, his eyes narrowing fractionally.

"Oh, no more than two thousand miles," said the Doctor through a slightly crooked smirk, and then promptly ambled away, examining the local scenery with an expression of good-humoured interest and kicking up the sand now and then like a small boy. Jamie rolled his eyes at the man's back and then followed, pushing up his sleeves and then knotting his kerchief around his forehead as he went.

"You said we was gonnae visit the city," he said. "This, er...Ankey Moor..." Jamie waved a hand through the air.

"Ankh-Morpork," the Doctor corrected him, patiently. "Well, yes, that _was_ what I had in mind."

"This is a desert," Jamie pointed out; quite reasonably, he thought.

"It's a nice desert, though."

"D'ye even know _where_ we are?"

"Yes, Jamie, I do," said the Doctor, with what sounded like iron-clad patience being put under no more than the slightest, tiniest strain. "We're in one of the very few places where I can be assured of at least an afternoon's respite from the demands of the Celestial Intervention Agency. Heaven knows I've _earned_ a little time off," he added, bending to poke gingerly at a fearsome cactus topped off with a striking red flower with petals as thin as finest silk.

"I thought they could track ye anywhere in the universe," said Jamie, exasperation quickly giving way to puzzlement.

"That's why I've sort of popped into another universe for a bit," the Doctor replied. He then straightened up, ducked his head conspiratorially and gave the Scotsman a sly little wink over the top of his sunglasses. This time, though, he didn't wait for Jamie to muster another baffled query, but merely went on: "This is a fictional universe. No, no," he added, raising a hand and a reassuring smile as his young friend reacted with evident concern at these words, "it's not the Land of Fiction, Jamie. Don't look so worried. We're in a different place altogether. There's no harm in our being here, believe me."

"Aye, well, ye cannae blame me for worryin', Doctor," said the young man, wryly. "After all, seems sometimes ye cannae stay oot o' – "

The Doctor jerked his head up like a startled deer. It wasn't until the raw, persistent desert wind finally slackened a little that the sound filtered through to Jamie's ears as well, and his brow knotted in bewilderment. "Hey, is that a..." he began, but he was by now addressing his words to empty air as the little man hurried away in a cloud of fine desert dust and then, huffing and puffing softly, began to scale the nearest dune.

"Oh my word," said the Doctor quietly, planting his hands on his hips and staring down into the arid little valley on the far side of the dune. It might once have been a riverbed; the endlessly shifting sands had not yet covered what was clearly rock hard mud, now crazed with cracks. A few second later, Jamie clambered up the last few feet and then stood beside his friend, shading his eyes and staring at the pathetic little tableau far below.

The cart's driver had probably decided to follow the valley, reasoning that it ought to lead him out of the desert eventually. And indeed, if it hadn't been for the broken cartwheel, the plan might have proven effective. As it was, the cart now listed to one side, its rear offside wheel cracked from rim to rim and the axle snapped like a dry twig. The canvas sidings had torn free of their bindings, and flapped now and again in the restless winds, snapping back and forth like the wings of a dying bird.

Once again, though, over this forlorn and repetitive sound there came a high, plaintive wail, and hearing this, the Doctor set his shoulders and started down the slope toward the cart, leaving a deep furrow in his wake.

Jamie followed, the wind rising once more until it tore at his hair and made his eyes water, and by the time he joined the Doctor, the little man was carefully climbing the rickety wooden steps at the rear of the cart and peering through into the stifling gloom. And for a few seconds, he remained quite still.

"What can ye see?" asked Jamie, suddenly seized with a powerful yet unaccountable pang of unease.

"Oh no," said the Doctor, and his voice, although perfectly even, was also tainted with anguish; and then he mounted the last step and ducked inside the cart, disappearing from view altogether. Jamie sighed, then clambered up the steps after him. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but when his vision cleared, his heart sank as he took in the scene.

There was little room inside for much besides two narrow bunks, but both of these were occupied. Jamie's back stiffened slightly as he looked first at the still figure on the left. It was clear that the man was beyond mortal help; his skin was as thin and as white as paper and his eyes sunk in deep, bruised hollows. In his young life, Jamie had seen his share of corpses and supposed that the man had been dead at least a day, if not two.

But it was to the other occupants of the cart that the Doctor was now tending as best he could, murmuring some words of quiet comfort. The young woman seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, and every few seconds her eyes would flutter and close, but she held onto the bundle in her arms as if only death itself would part her from it.

And then the bundle whimpered, softly but clearly.

Jamie reacted on pure instinct. "Doctor, we should – "

"No," said the Doctor gently, without looking around.

"But we cannae just _leave_ her."

"It's too late."

A few breathless seconds later, the woman's head fell to the side, and with both speed and precision, the Doctor reached out and took the baby from her before it could fall from her grasp. Only then did he straighten up and turn around in one fluid movement, cradling the child close to his chest, but he didn't look down. His shadowed blue eyes were, for the moment, firmly fixed on Jamie's.

"She simply wouldn't let go of the baby," he said, softly. "You must believe me, Jamie, there's nothing we could have done to save her."

The Scotsman still had plenty of fight left in him, but as he looked from the fretful infant to the Doctor's expression, and then back down, and then up again, his former resolve drained away like meltwater. He wisely bit back the angry remark that had been gathering in the back of his mind, and then mustered a weak little half-smile.

"At least we saved the bairn, eh?" he said.

"Yes," the Doctor replied, but all at once, his tone was both distant and unsteady, and as Jamie watched, his gaze shifted until he was looking over the Scot's shoulder. "And now," he said, his voice breaking imperceptibly, "I think we'd better be going. Yes. Right now," he added, his eyes widening meaningfully.

DOCTOR?

Jamie froze at once as those two hollow syllables scored themselves onto his brain and then trickled down his spine like a drop of ice water.

"Good afternoon...sir," said the Doctor stiffly, not smiling; and then he seemed to reach a decision. He moved forward and pressed the swaddled infant on Jamie, who was still mired in confusion and reacted accordingly slowly. The Doctor was now radiating impatience, however. "Take her outside, Jamie," he said. "This doesn't concern you and I really don't think you'd _want _to know, in any case. Don't turn around, whatever you do. Just go back to the TARDIS and wait for me, please."

Jamie blinked a few times, his mouth moving soundlessly, but then took the child from the Doctor's arms and nodded dumbly.

"Off you go, then," the Doctor repeated, ushering him gently but firmly toward the front of the cart, where he hopped down only with some difficulty after negotiating the splintered shafts and the shifting sand that had piled up on the cart's windward side, all the while being careful not to drop his precious burden.

It wasn't until he was halfway up the dune that the spell finally broke and his brow creased. Jamie stopped in his tracks and looked down at the infant, who seemed to be perfectly content in his company and was now peering up at him with round, mildly curious grey eyes. A sardonic little smile crossed Jamie's face like cloud shadow, and then he snorted softly, swung around and trudged back the way he'd come.

* * *

I DIDN'T EXPECT TO SEE _YOU_ HERE.

"Oh, you know me, always turning up where I'm least expected," said the Doctor, his expression bright but intensely brittle. "It's more fun that way."

HMM, said Death critically, but then appeared to disregard the matter for the time being, and turned to the woman on the bunk instead. With one smooth movement he swung his scythe back, angled it carefully and then brought the blade down in velvet silence. There was the softest sound, right on the edge of hearing, like a soap bubble bursting – and then the woman sat up, her soul little more than a pale, shimmering sketch in the air.

"Where's my daughter?" she said, at once, glancing around her. Death did not reply, but to the Doctor's surprise, he extended one calcareous hand and helped her to her feet, where she flickered uncertainly but continued to cast about for her child, watched by the silent apparition. At length the Doctor sighed, looked Death up and down with vague contempt and then stepped into the woman's line of sight and smiled warmly and – he hoped – reassuringly.

"She's quite safe," he insisted. "My assistant is taking care of her."

"Am I dead?"

This time the Doctor glanced over at Death, but there was no help there. He turned back, then nodded slowly and sadly.

"I'm afraid so, yes."

She was even more insubstantial now, her outline blurring into the motes that drifted through the musty air inside the cart. She reached for the Doctor; he, acting on reflex, put out a hand to take hers, but his fingers closed on empty air, and in the next swirl of dust, she was gone. The Doctor exhaled wearily and turned to Death, his features set in disapproval.

"Really," he said, severely. "Is that the best you could do for the poor thing? Whatever happened to personal service?"

I DID MY DUTY.

"That's not quite what I meant," said the Doctor, reproachfully, although this censure was apparently wasted.

WHAT ELSE SHOULD I HAVE DONE? asked Death, and now he tilted his hood to one side, leaving the Doctor feeling faintly mocked.

"Would a few kind words be out of the question?"

I THINK THAT WOULD BE A LITTLE INAPPROPRIATE, DON'T YOU?

The Doctor opened his mouth, then shut it again just as promptly. He invested a few seconds in choosing his words with a little more care, and then said: "Well, it's not my place to tell you how to do your job, I'm sure." His face, meanwhile, strongly suggested he thought otherwise.

Death stared at him for a moment more, but the Doctor had been stared at by experts. The only reaction was the slightest, tiniest twitch in his cheek, and then Death turned away and stepped out into the glare of the desert sun. The Doctor scrambled out and set off after him, his coat tails flying as he tried to match Death's long strides.

Jamie, who had been listening to this cryptic exchange, also gave chase, keeping the baby close to his body as he floundered through the heavy sand.

"Now wait just one moment..." the Doctor called, panting slightly.

Death stopped, and turned.

YES?

"What about the – oh, there you are, Jamie." He paused, shook his head sharply and collected himself once more before turning back to the patient figure of Death. "What about the child?"

WHAT ABOUT IT?

"Her," said the Doctor, icily. "Not 'it'."

WELL?

"Doctor, who is this?" asked Jamie, his puzzled gaze shuttling back and forth between the little man and the other figure, which seemed a little indistinct; a fact that he ascribed to the heat haze from the baking dunes. "Sounds tae me like he _knows_ you."

"We've met. Um. Once," said the Doctor, now looking a trifle pink about the cheek. "I really don't have the time to explain, Jamie. Now if you'll excuse me, I think this needs careful handling." So saying, he beckoned to the dark stranger, and the Scotsman watched as the pair strolled away a few yards and just out of earshot.

Jamie screwed up his eyes and watched the inaudible discussion from afar, pausing only to make attempts to soothe the infant, which was now fussing and wriggling with increasing vigour, understandably unhappy under the burning sunlight. When he finally glanced up again, the Doctor was making some vague but clearly heartfelt gesture with both hands, and finished this with a nod, first at the baby and then at the distant, shimmering outline of the TARDIS. The stranger's hood turned to follow this, and then bowed slightly.

Still none the wiser for this, Jamie gently but vainly shushed the squealing baby and then followed the Doctor and his mysterious friend back to the TARDIS, his brain rattling and clicking and rapidly filling up with questions he wasn't entirely sure he had the courage to ask.

* * *

Death looked around.

HAVE YOU REDECORATED?

"A tad," said the Doctor, eyeing him warily from the far side of the console.

I DON'T LIKE IT.

"Yes, well, I think we have more important things to discuss, don't you?" the Doctor replied, with a trace of asperity.

Jamie, finally resigned to the fact that the role of nursemaid had been firmly and irrevocably foisted upon him, was sitting in one corner, feeding the baby and fervently wishing that Victoria was still around. The Doctor had at least managed to locate some milk and a bottle – Jamie, his nerves shaky enough as it was, didn't feel inclined to ask where or how – and then left him to work things out on his own. Which he'd done after a rough and ready fashion, albeit after a few false starts and an eyeful of milk.

YOU BELIEVE I SHOULD CARE FOR THE CHILD?

"It's the only possible option," said the Doctor, firmly, clasping his hands behind his back.

AND IT HAD NOT OCCURRED TO YOU THAT I AM HARDLY EQUIPPED?

"Oh, really now. Who is? The most basic qualification for parenthood isn't exactly what you'd call stringent, yet most people seem to manage the job well enough."

I AM NOT "MOST PEOPLE", said Death, dropping the inverted commas into place with deliberate care.

"That makes two of us, doesn't it?"

THE WORLD IS FULL OF ORPHANS. WHAT MAKES THIS ONE SPECIAL?

"She's here," said the Doctor, with a light shrug. "And so are we."

YES, said Death, after a pause, and now he bent down and looked closely at the Doctor. WHY _ARE_ YOU HERE?

"I was looking for some peace and quiet," the Doctor replied with forced casualness, giving every impression of studying a readout on the console.

YOU ARE CLEARLY LOOKING IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES, DOCTOR.

The baby had been starving. Jamie struggled to reclaim the now-empty bottle and set it aside to the sounds of complaint; and then, acting on fuzzy memories of his sisters caring for their young, hoisted the girl onto his shoulder and patted her gently but firmly on the back a few times. There was one last cry, a protracted and ever so slightly strangled gurgling noise, and then Jamie's self-congratulatory grin promptly vanished as he felt something warm and sticky running down the back of his neck.

And suddenly, that wasn't the only problem. Jamie cringed, wrinkled his nose, and then waved a hand at the Doctor.

"Not now, Jamie."

"But the babbie's a wee bit on the smelly side an' – "

The Doctor sighed and drummed his fingers on the console.

"Jamie," he said, evenly, "in all the years we've been travelling together we've faced Ice Warriors, Cybermen, Daleks, Yeti and I don't know what else besides. I'm sure you can cope with this. Out of the door, fourth room on the right. You should find everything you need in there."

"Aye, all exceptin' mebbe a peg for ma' nose," Jamie muttered.

"What was that?"

"Och, nothing," said Jamie, wearily, and wandered off with the baby held at arm's length.

* * *

When Jamie returned, trailing a fine cloud of baby powder and silently vowing that he'd never bite his nails again as long as he lived, the Doctor greeted him with a broad smile and then turned back to Death, adroitly picking up the thread of an interrupted conversation.

"Do we have an agreement?" he asked.

INSOFAR AS I AGREE TO DO AS YOU ASK, said Death, somehow managing to avoid all traces of irony, THEN IT APPEARS WE DO.

"I'll come back and check on you now and then."

CAN WE AGREE THAT YOU WON'T?

"If you prefer," said the Doctor, mildly.

I MEAN NO OFFENCE, OF COURSE, said Death, gently lifting the cooing bundle from Jamie's arms, BUT MY JOB IS DIFFCULT ENOUGH WITHOUT YOU AROUND. He looked down at the baby now, his skull on one side. WHAT TO CALL YOU, I WONDER?

"Hmm. How about 'Ysabell'?" said the Doctor, suddenly all innocence. Death tilted one empty eye socket in his direction, but saw nothing telling.

YSABELL, he said, turning the name over slowly and thoughtfully. YES.

"Now are you _sure_ you don't want me to look in on you?"

GOODBYE, DOCTOR, said Death pointedly, and then turned and stalked out of the TARDIS without a further word.

After a long and particularly luxuriant silence, Jamie walked over to the doors and ran a trembling hand over them.

"But...he didnae open the door..."

"No," said the Doctor, through a long-suffering sigh, settling his hands on the flight levers and initiating take-off procedure. "He never does. Anyway, I suppose we should be getting back. Don't want to keep Zodin waiting, do we?"

"Not after the last time," said Jamie, with a small wince of recollection.

"Do you think she's forgotten about that unfortunate incident with the pelican and the limbo dancers?"

"Would _you_ forget about it?"

"Not without a stiff drink, certainly..."

Groaning and wheezing, the TARDIS faded away.

* * *

**Afterword: I've no clear idea where this little vignette sprang from. I was recently re-reading "Mort" and things started to happen in my brain - as they so often do. I hope it's proven entertaining.**

**The title? For those who skipped American period literature, it's an homage to the 1913 novel of the same name by Peter B. Kyne, about a trio of bank robbers who care for the newborn child of a woman they find dying in the desert.**

**It was adapted for the screen three times, perhaps most notably in 1948 with John Wayne.**


End file.
